


Spell Your Truth On My Skin

by Padraigen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Jealous Arthur, Love Confessions, M/M, Not a reveal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 17:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19214563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padraigen/pseuds/Padraigen
Summary: Merlin understood why he could not sensibly stay the night in Arthur’s bed—it was too big, too pleasant to not remind him of his place. He felt awkward facing the broad expanse of Arthur’s back where he’d rolled away once the heat of the moment had passed, knowing beyond a shadow of doubt that Arthur expected him gone by morning.





	Spell Your Truth On My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the lovely Nonnie for the beta! And thanks so much to Wynnesome, who helped beta the second half of this fic!

“You don’t have to leave.”

“What, and exchange my bed—made for a king, mind you—with its feather pillows and silk sheets imported from Northumbria for this lump of wood?” Arthur grumbled, gesturing to Merlin’s small cot. “I think not.”

Merlin watched, a pang in his chest, as Arthur scoured the floor for the clothes he had tossed mindlessly about the room in their haste to remove them. A patch of moonlight streaming in through the window alighted Arthur’s face for a brief moment as he fiddled with the fastenings of his breeches, enabling Merlin a glimpse of bright, disheveled hair and shadowed eyes.

It was not the first time they had fornicated in Merlin’s room, too impatient and occupied with each other to get to Arthur’s chambers when Merlin’s room was closer, and it would likely not be the last.

Merlin also understood why  _he_ could not sensibly stay the night in Arthur’s bed—it was too big, too pleasant to not remind him of his place. He felt awkward facing the broad expanse of Arthur’s back where he’d rolled away once the heat of the moment had passed, knowing beyond a shadow of doubt that Arthur expected him gone by morning.

But being here, in  _his_  room, on  _his_  bed, gave Merlin a sense of security. Here, they had to curl up in each other, practically intertwined, to even fit in his narrow bed. Here, Arthur could not turn away. Here, Merlin was filled with such an overwhelming sense of intimacy and comfort that the courage, which was always absent whenever they were in Arthur’s chambers, was able to counteract the fear of dismissal lodged in his chest. Here, Merlin always asked Arthur if he would stay. And though the anticipated excuse was always different, the answer was still always a resounding “no.”

Merlin asked anyway.

And he watched, heart heavy, as Arthur redressed himself, oblivious or uncaring of how rumpled he now looked. Arthur turned towards the door, pausing only to say flippantly, “Don’t be late tomorrow, Merlin. I have a very important council meeting in the morning, and I can’t have you delaying me.”

Then he left, not waiting for a response, and with never so much as a “good night.”

Merlin’s arms gave out, and his head collided with a soft  _thunk_ with his pillow. Wetness clung to his lashes and burned his eyes, pathetic and inexorable, while shame twisted deep in his belly. Arthur had made it abundantly clear that what they had was nothing more than a casual  _thing_  between two ‘friends’. But, try as he might, Merlin was never able to see it that way. Which was probably why he always wanted Arthur to stay with him through the night.

He wanted to be able to curl up with Arthur after great sex and sleep through until morning, neither of them having to worry about journeying back to their own chambers before dawn. He wanted to give into his urges to kiss Arthur whenever he felt like it,  _just_ because he felt like kissing him. He wanted lingering touches and pointed eye contact to be private communication between them, and not just an offer for sex. He wanted fond smiles and meaningful glances to have a deeper significance. And more than anything, he wanted Arthur to love him as he loved Arthur.

— — —

The following morning found Merlin in Arthur’s chambers. He didn’t bother knocking before waltzing right in, still feeling the remnants of bitterness from the previous night and not particularly inclined towards politeness. He dumped the breakfast tray on Arthur’s table, making the clang of metal on wood as obnoxious as possible and loudly rambled off a “good morning.” Then he stalked over to the window and whisked open the drapes unrepentantly. Arthur’s habitual grumbling came from the head of the bed, and Merlin couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips though he tried very hard to curb it.

He was rather fond of Arthur’s grumpy morning mutterings, but he’d be damned before he ever let Arthur know that.

Foreign dignitaries were due today, as was evident by the hustling and bustling of the servants who were tasked with making the castle presentable. The kitchen had been in chaos when he’d gone down for Arthur’s meal, which might have had something to do with the grand feast being held tonight in the Great Hall. Mary, who headed the kitchen, had been an even darker shade of puce than usual, and Merlin could only be grateful he’d never had to work in there.

The servants weren’t the only ones stressed to the breaking point. Arthur was irritable the entire morning, snapping at Merlin whenever he so much as  _breathed_ too loudly. Council was certain not to ease Arthur’s vexation in the slightest, and Merlin earnestly wished he could soothe him with a gentle touch, but that would have been inappropriate even if Arthur  _didn’t_  protest it. All he could really do was stand at Arthur’s shoulder as council commenced, stay there as the hours stretched intolerably, and hope that Arthur found the slightest bit of comfort in his presence.

After council, Arthur strode quickly from the chambers, red cloak trailing behind him, clearly not interested in being detained any further—Merlin certainly couldn’t blame him. His left foot had gone numb at some point during talk of crop growth, a report which had been at  _least_  three times longer than it had any right to be.

Arthur turned his head to the side slightly, aware of Merlin keeping pace right behind him, and said, “I’m going to have a word with Geoffrey, Merlin. I want you to go and find my cloak with the fancy clasp. Have it ready when I get back to my chambers.”

“Why?” Merlin asked readily. He didn’t care that servants weren’t generally permitted to question their masters because he didn’t understand Arthur’s request. Arthur hated that cloak, thought it ostentatious.

(Merlin had to courteously restrain himself from snorting ironically every time Arthur said it.)

“I think you’re forgetting who is lord and who is servant again,  _Mer_ lin. I demand something of you and you get it done, no questions asked. That’s the beauty of a master’s relationship with his servant.”

Merlin raised an indignant eyebrow. “I don’t see what ‘beauty’ there is in getting bossed around.”

“Yes, well, you always have been a bit of a simpleton. I wouldn’t expect the likes of you to understand it. Or anything, really.”

Merlin huffed a breath, not offended in the least, comfortable in their familiar give and take. He knew Arthur would explain eventually.

Arthur must’ve seen the thoughts playing in his head writ plainly on Merlin’s face because he rolled his eyes, a fond little smile quirking his lips. “Go on, Merlin. I’ll be there in a bit.”

Merlin grinned gaily as he parted with Arthur, going left as Arthur went right.

— — —

Arthur did, in fact, explain his reasoning for the cloak when he came back to his chambers around noon. By that time, Merlin had found the cloak, polished the clasp, and got lunch from the kitchens, and he was now straightening the hem of the cloak, long-suffering, as Arthur twitched and fidgeted in agitation.

“The cloak was a gift from his father, you understand. I’m just trying to show my appreciation.”

Merlin had his doubts in regard to that statement when Arthur went on to call Prince Philip a pompous miscreant who “thought it would be hilarious to throw my wooden model of the castle out the window when we were children because he didn’t have anything like it. For God’s sake, it almost landed on a handmaiden’s head!”

It wasn’t much time before they were on the steps of the castle, waiting to receive the delegation. Arthur stood tall, every inch a king though he’d forgone his crown, and as the party—complete with knights on horseback, guards surrounding a horse-drawn carriage, servants and maids bringing up the rear—drew close, Merlin watched as Arthur painted a grin on his face. He thought he might have been the only one in the entire court to recognise how false it was.

A man with dark hair stepped out of the carriage, brushing away the hand of a servant. He was rather resplendent in heavy furs and expensive silks, his neck adorned in gold and jewels, and a sparkling crown of silver resting upon his head.

“Prince Philip!” Arthur’s faux-jovial voice echoed in the chilly courtyard. “How good it is to see you again.”

“Likewise, Your Majesty. It has been, what, ten years?” The man—Prince Philip—spoke with a strange smile on his face.

“Eleven, I believe,” Arthur corrected, but then grimaced almost imperceptibly, as if he wished he hadn’t spoken. “I have heard news of the king. How does he fair?”

“He is better than he has been,” Philip said, succinct and cryptic. He walked steadily to the steps, then paced up them until he was of a height with Arthur, one step below. “And, of course, I heard what happened to your father. You have my condolences—I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your coronation, but with Father having just fallen ill, you can understand the circumstances I’d found myself in.”

“Certainly,” Arthur said, his voice strained. He hated speaking of his father, and Merlin hated it, too, if only for the way guilt would eat away at him every time he saw the way Arthur would clench his jaw and shutter his eyes, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. “Merlin.”

Merlin stood to attention at the sound of his name. “Why don’t you show Prince Philip’s servant to the quarters the prince will be staying in, hmm?” Arthur dismissed him flippantly, and without so much as looking Merlin’s way, Arthur swept back up the steps, gesturing that Philip and his party follow.

After a moment of staring hopelessly at Arthur’s retreating form, Merlin turned to the servant Arthur had mentioned and did as he was told.

After that, he helped out around the castle, doing what he could to make the workload of the castle staff easier, until the entire afternoon had passed and it was time to help Arthur prepare for the feast.

This time he did knock on Arthur’s door, waiting until he was granted entry before stepping over the threshold. Arthur stood beside the hearth with Philip at his side, both men staring pensively into the fire, both with a goblet of something in their hands. Wine, probably. It wasn’t until Merlin cleared his throat pointedly that Arthur turned to look at him. “What is it, Merlin?”

“The feast, Sire,” Merlin said. “It will begin in half an hour, and I thought you might need help getting ready.”

“Yes, I suppose dressing myself would be rather taxing,” Arthur drawled, his tone mocking. “Whatever would I do without you here to tie my breeches, Merlin?”

Merlin tried not to bristle, surprisingly stung. The words were something Merlin might’ve expected from Arthur, if not for the way they were said so sharply, so coldly. Arthur was making fun of him. In front of a prince from a foreign land, no less.

“Put them on backwards, I expect,” Merlin said, in spite of himself and his station. He regretted them immediately when he saw Arthur’s eyes narrow, and he was almost afraid to see how Philip would react to his slip of the tongue.

He needn’t have worried, however, as Philip only laughed. “And who exactly is this, Arthur? You haven’t introduced me.” Prince Philip turned to look at Merlin then, his gaze roaming up and down Merlin’s lanky form. Merlin withstood the predatory stare, his head held steady, although he wasn’t stupid enough to look the prince in the eyes.

“What?” Arthur said distractedly, looking between Merlin and Philip with unmasked displeasure. “He’s nobody. A servant. Don’t you have to get ready for the feast yourself, Philip? Do you think I’ve forgotten how long it takes you to prepare yourself?”

“Always the joker, Arthur.” Philip’s smile turned sharp. “I will see you at the feast,” he said in parting, and then he brushed by Merlin on his way out. “Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t shudder at the prince’s hot breath near his ear, but it was a close thing. He scowled and marched over to Arthur, who had his back turned again and was once more staring into the fire.

“What was that about?” Merlin demanded.

“Hmm?” Arthur didn’t look at him, didn’t even seem to notice his presence.

“That—What just happened.” Merlin reached a hand out and tried to gentle his touch as he tugged on Arthur’s sleeve. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

That, at least, got Arthur’s attention. But when Arthur turned his head and looked at him, Merlin didn’t think he was really seeing him at all. “Nothing,” Arthur said, his voice rough like it only ever got when he was exhausted after having stayed up all night working on something or worrying too much to be able to fall asleep. “Just get my clothes, Merlin. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Merlin swallowed and tried not to let how hurt he was show on his face. “Of course, Sire.”

— — —

The feast was not exactly an exceptional success, but Merlin rather thought it could have gone worse.

At least, that’s what he thought until he followed Arthur—huffing to keep up with his stride—back to the king’s chambers. Arthur smiled at every passing servant, and Merlin could only guess at how bitter he must have looked seeing how the servants skittered away from him, throwing questioning glances at Merlin as they passed. Merlin could only shrug helplessly in response.

He reckoned he almost broke a wrist catching the door when Arthur tried to slam it shut behind him when they finally got to his chambers. Arthur had already stalked across the room by then, and—to Merlin’s great alarm—kicked angrily at the chair sitting innocently in front of the hearth. The chair barely moved an inch, and Merlin thought more damage had been done to Arthur, who cursed loudly and yelled obscenities at the chair.

“Arthur?” he ventured hesitantly.

Arthur spun around, his lavish red cloak almost tripping him up. He cursed that too, pulling at it until he finally just yanked it over his head to get it off. The dramatic show made Merlin realise that Arthur was probably more than a bit inebriated.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Arthur snarled as he started to tug at the buttons on his shirt. “I thought you’d have gone back to Philip’s chambers with him, since you seemed to like him so much!”

Merlin could do little more than gape in confusion at this pronouncement, wondering what in God’s name gave Arthur that idea.

It was true that Merlin had spent much of his time serving Philip at the feast at the prince’s request. Philip would periodically grab Merlin’s wrist as he finished re-filling his cup, stopping Merlin from returning to his proper place behind Arthur so he could regale him with spectacular—and likely embellished—anecdotes of his many great conquests and adventures as a prince.

Merlin laughed dutifully in all the right places and pasted a smile on his face, turning to stare imploringly at Arthur whenever Philip wasn’t looking, but Arthur had hardly deigned to glance at him the entire time. If he had, he would’ve realised how truly uncomfortable Philip had made Merlin feel. Anger simmered low in Merlin’s belly as Arthur went on about it, and by the time Merlin had tuned back into Arthur’s monologue, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“... and if you do decide to lie with him, you should know he’s hardly a generous bed partner. Even you could do better, surely.”

Humiliation and embarrassment flooded him, made his cheeks heat and his eyes burn in a way he absolutely hated. Arthur thought that—that Merlin wanted to  _sleep with_  Philip?

“Arthur!  _Shut. Up_.”

Arthur’s voice suddenly cut off, his eyes widening and his hands falling into fists at his sides. He stared at Merlin with a surprise that didn’t satisfy Merlin for very long.

“You know,  _Your Highness_ , I’ve put up with a lot from you throughout the years, but this level of derision is where I draw the line. You’ll have to find some other poor dolt to bully because I’ve had enough.”

Merlin tried not to let himself panic as he left Arthur’s chambers. What he’d said back there had made it sound like he had quit his job, which was really a very terribly bad idea. He couldn’t protect Arthur if he wasn’t in the position of being he manservant. He’d just have to let tonight blow over and hope Arthur didn’t remember any of it come morning. Right.

But he couldn’t disregard the fact that he was tired of the poor way Arthur treated him. He resolved that he would have to put a stop to this—this  _thing_  they had between them. From now on, they would only be master and servant if that was how Arthur wanted it. It hurt to think, but he knew it was for the best. Especially if— _when_ —Arthur learned of his magic. And there was a thought.

Merlin tried to tell himself that everything would be all right as he prepared for bed, without much success. He didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep, though, too aware of the night before and the overwhelming loss that was left by Arthur’s absence.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, however, because he was now being shaken awake by a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder. “Merlin,” a low voice said. “Merlin, wake up.”

Merlin blinked his eyes open, peering groggily up at the figure hovering above. It was still dark enough to be night, but a flickering light made him realise someone must have lit the candle beside his bed. It gave off a soft glow and let him see who it was standing over him before he had a chance to freak out.

Arthur smiled at him delicately, almost hesitantly. He sat down on the side of the bed next to Merlin’s hip and reached out a hand as if to touch him, but his fingers stopped an inch from brushing Merlin’s arm. He let his hand fall back into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said plainly, his voice so low Merlin had to lean forward to hear him. “I’m sorry for how I treated you, not just tonight, but for all the times you’ve been in my service and I’ve been an arse. Sometimes it scares me how much you mean to me. And it’s no excuse for trying to push you away, I know that, but it’s all I’ve got.”

Then Arthur shifted and knelt beside the head of the bed, startling Merlin when he reached for his hand. Arthur grabbed it before Merlin could pull away and laced their fingers together. “I don’t want to lose you, Merlin. Ever. I understand if you’ve made up your mind about leaving my service, and I’ll respect your decision. But if you can find it within yourself to give me another chance, I’ll spend every waking moment making it up to you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

Merlin smiled and squeezed Arthur’s fingers where they were entwined with his own. “That could be a long time,” he said quietly.

Arthur squeezed back. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Merlin drew Arthur up onto his bed by their linked hands and turned around so Arthur could spoon him from behind. Their knees bent into shape, fitting together like puzzle pieces, and Arthur’s arm wrapped snugly around his waist, pulling until Merlin’s back was pressed flush against Arthur’s chest.

“So,” Merlin said a little later, tracing Arthur’s fingers with his own where it was pressed against his sternum. He’d never been allowed this level of intimacy before, finding himself fascinated now by the bumps and nicks and calluses of a man who worked with his hands. He dithered, unsure if he should continue, but Arthur hummed in question and Merlin found himself asking, “What happened between you and Philip?”

He almost regretted asking when he felt Arthur tense up, but soon Arthur let out a long breath that gusted warmly over the back of Merlin’s neck and his body relaxed.

“We’d met when we were children, but I only really got to know him when he came to stay with my father for a summer when I was fifteen,” Arthur began, his thumb kneading circles into the flesh below Merlin’s knuckles. “I liked Philip because he never made me feel like a little kid, even though he was four years older than me. He listened to what I had to say like no one else ever would, and he thought my ideas were interesting.

“We spent that entire summer in each other’s company. We grew rather close—at least, I thought so. He was my first… everything, really. When it came to summer’s end, I had hoped to stay in touch—fancied myself in love with him, I suppose. He of course laughed at my whimsy and pissed off back to his country. That was that.”

By the resentful way Arthur said the words, Merlin guessed that that had  _not_ , in fact, been that. But Merlin didn’t question him. He didn’t want to make Arthur feel any worse than he probably already did.

Arthur surprised Merlin by continuing, “Then I met you, Merlin, and I forgot about him almost entirely. For as long as I’ve known you, you were all I ever wanted. But then Philip came back, and I thought maybe you  _liked_  him, and I completely lost it. I couldn’t bear the thought that—that— ”

“He’s not going to take me away from you, Arthur,” Merlin rushed to assure him, repulsed by even the thought.

“No, I know,” Arthur said. “You’re much too good for him.” His thumb stopped rubbing circles onto the back of Merlin’s hand, and he said so quietly Merlin wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it, “You’re much too good for me.”

Merlin felt heat rise and pool in his cheeks, and he was glad for the dim light and to be turned away from Arthur so that Arthur couldn’t see him blushing. “I’m not, really. I’m just a servant.”

Arthur’s arm shifted, and he maneuvered Merlin’s body until he was lying on his back. Arthur’s head was bent over his, their lips mere millimeters apart. Arthur brushed his nose against Merlin’s and said, “You have never in your life been  _just_  anything.” Then he kissed him.

Merlin groaned against Arthur’s lips and let his fingers reach up to tangle in the soft curls at the nape of Arthur’s neck. They kissed like that for some time, slow and sweet, until Merlin pulled back just far enough to mutter against Arthur’s lips, “I love you, Arthur.”

Arthur’s responding grin was wide and brilliant. “I love you, too, Merlin.”

Then he turned Merlin back around to lie on his side, ignoring Merlin’s protests. He cozied up to him and curled around him in much the same position as before, his arm holding Merlin close. Merlin didn’t admit it, but he was grateful that Arthur didn’t push the kissing any farther, still exhausted from his earlier emotional turmoil.

But there was something keeping him from falling asleep, a fear niggling at the back of his mind that Arthur wouldn’t be there when he woke up. It took innumerable breaths from Arthur’s lips, Merlin losing count of how many times his chest expanded against his back, for Merlin to work up the courage to ask, “Stay?”

Arthur’s hold tightened only marginally. “Always.”

Merlin woke up the next morning to Arthur’s habitual grumblings, smiling when he grumpily complained about the sunlight pouring unrepentantly into the room, and high on the feeling of knowing Arthur had kept his promise.


End file.
